


Boy Blue

by Tashilover



Series: Phthalo Blue [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WORK IS UNFINISHED.</p><p> </p><p>Sequel to 'Not Yet'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, be aware this piece is unfinished and WILL STAY THAT WAY. I had written this before I left the Sherlock fandom and it has sat in my saved files for a very long time. I didn't want to delete it, because it still represents a certain amount of love and effort I had put into it. So here it is.
> 
> Read if you wish, just don't expect more my lovelies.

John swore if it was the last thing he'll ever do, he was going to get Mrs. Hudson canonized. She made Joan of Arc look like the whore of Babylon.

He didn't know what he would do without her. Between work and suddenly becoming a father to a child he'd never known about until last month was tiring.

"How was he?" John asked his landlady as she handed Christian over to him.

"Quiet," Mrs. Hudson said, with a shrug. In the beginning she was pleased with taking care of a child that barely cried. "Less headaches," she once said. Now she was concerned Christian was too quiet.

John readjusted the plump baby in his arms. He looked down at him. "Hey," John said.

Christian stared back, bored.

Mrs. Hudson frowned at this. "I'm not even sure he recognizes you as his father."

John didn't want to agree with her. "It's fine. Did he eat?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dealing with one child was hard enough. Dealing with two was insufferable.

"My God," John hissed as soon as he entered the flat. Even Christian wrinkled his nose. "What is that smell?"

"It's not toxic," Sherlock explained from his chemistry set in the kitchen.

John immediately set Christian down on the sofa. With an arm draped across his face, he wretched opened the windows. "Not the point! I don't want this smell soaking into the furniture."

All he got in response was a nonchalant shrug.

Christian kept rubbing at his nose, his face scrunching each time he pulled his arm away, discovering the action did nothing. Finally, he had enough.

John has never seen the babe cry actual tears. When Christian wanted something- food, diaper change- he opened his mouth and just screamed.

"Goddamnit!" John rushed over, snatching the wailing babe up. Christian was like a fire truck siren: loud and unending. Immediately John's ears began to hurt. "Sherlock, do something about this smell!"

John turned and stomped up the stairs to his room, where hopefully the smell hadn't seeped through. He didn't see Sherlock shrugging again.

The smell had seeped through, but it wasn't as strong. John set Christian down on his bed and stripped of his outer shirt, tossing it into a random corner. He then quickly stripped Christian of his clothes.

Smell finally gone, Christian closed his mouth.

John's ears thanked him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, calming himself. "So," John smiled at the little boy. "Feeling better?"

Christian didn't return the smile. That was another thing the boy never did: smile. He never grinned, never giggled, never reached out for John.

"All children are different," Mrs. Hudson tried to reassure him before, even though John could see she was worried too. "Don't expect him to grow the same as everyone else."

Christian blinked and John sighed. "All right," he got up to grab towels from his closet. "Bath time."

 

 

 

 

 

 

John bathed him. Fed him, clothed him, changed his diapers. He bought him toys, carried him until his arms were sore, woke up in the middle of the night to check on him.

"You don't love him."

John didn't dare answer that. Instead, he kept his eyes on the snoozing babe. Christian was wrapped tightly in a swaddling blanket Harry had given him as a gift.

Sherlock continued, despite the silence. "Why do you bother keeping him?"

"He's my son."

"Only biologically."

"Leave this alone," John warned. He didn't want Sherlock breaking this down logically. He didn't want to be told.

Sherlock's fascination with Christian only lasted for perhaps a day. Just because he was Moriarty's flesh and blood didn't make him fascinating to study about. Sherlock obviously couldn't experiment on the baby, and John had refused him from even taking hair and blood samples. And now because there was a baby in the flat, there were so many things John had barred him from doing.

No more obtuse experiments that would require a gas mask or gloves. No more playing the violin at three in the morning. And ever since Christian moved in, John had only accompanied Sherlock to a crime scene once.

"He'll be cared for," Sherlock moved near, coming into John's peripheral. "Mycroft will find a family who wants him."

John gritted his teeth. "He is. My son."

"Your son," Sherlock repeated sourly. "How long do you expect those words to keep you going?"

"I never expected taking care of a baby to be easy."

"No, but you at least expected to care."

John surged to his feet, turned to face Sherlock head on. "I feed him, I make sure he's warm-"

"You do it because you have to," Sherlock shot back. He kept talking as if he were dissecting a crime scene. "You're not a parent, John, you're a babysitter."

"Shut up," John said. He didn't want to hear this.

"You've been with him for a month," Sherlock suddenly produced John's mobile phone. John slapped a hand on his back pocket, feeling out for a bump that wasn't there. "How many pictures have you taken of Christian? _One_. And that was to send it to your sister. Do you take any enjoyment from the boy's life? Do you look forward to the day when he starts walking or talking? Do you think of his future? His wedding? His graduation? You haven't, because _you don't care._ "

"I do care," John shot back, feeling a little embarrassed he sounded like a twelve year old. "The thought of Moriarty holding my son is sickening. I hate that I wasn't there for his birth, to be able to hold him when he was just a newborn-"

Sherlock barked out a laugh. "You honestly think you can produce love for Christian from experiences like that?"

"Oh, like you're an expert on relationships."

"Then why haven't you changed his name?"

That shut John up.

He gaped at Sherlock, trying to work out what he meant and failing. "What?"

"His name," Sherlock continued. "Christian. It's not as if the boy responds to it anyways. And considering the name was picked out by an international serial killer, I would think you would've liked to change it. John Jr., perhaps? Maybe David, named after your father. Or how about _Alexander?_ "

John had no idea how Sherlock found out about the name Alexander. He'd never told that to anybody. He simply thought Alexander would be a perfect name for a boy. It sounded strong.

He bowed his head, and looked down at the snoozing child.

He heard Sherlock whispered, "Give him to Mycroft. You don't want to spend your whole life resenting the boy."

John gritted his teeth. "Piss off."

 

 

 

 

 

Christian screamed like he was being murdered. He kicked uselessly, desperate to dislodge the thermometer from his bum. He immediately quieted down when John finally pulled it out.

"Yup," John confirmed, checking the temperature. "You have a fever."

Christian sniffled miserably.

"C'mon, then," John sighed tiredly, lifting Christian into his arms. "Time for a cool bath."

Bath time, it seemed, was the only time Christian appeared to be enjoying himself. There was something about the water that fascinated him. He loved placing his open palms on top of the water surface, then moving them to watch the ripples branch out. It was one of the few times John felt contented in just watching this little child be fascinated with the world around him.

The fever took that little pleasure away from the both of them. The moment John touched Christian's back with a cool rag, he shuddered and started wailing.

"I'm sorry, baby," John said quietly. His ears started to hurt. "It'll be quick, I promise..."

Even long after the bath was done, Christian kept crying. He was grabbing at his ear and John theorized he must have an ear infection as well. With a tired sigh, John heaved out his bag of medical supplies.

The bag has been ransacked, he could tell. Sherlock must have gotten into it. It wasn't the first time he took one of John's anatomy books or his stethoscope for his own use.

Goddamn it, his otoscope was missing.

"Sherlock!" John pounded into the kitchen. "Sherlock, where's my otoscope?"

Sherlock, bent over his microscope, pointed behind him. At the trash bin.

Sitting on top of old tea bags, take-away packages and old rags was John's otoscope. It had been disabled and partially melted.

"Jesus Christ!" John hissed, picking up the little bits of metal and throwing it back down in disgust. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Experimenting," Sherlock said. "I was-"

"I don't fucking care. You ruined a very expensive piece of equipment of mine!"

John could feel his mental walls breaking. Christian was still wailing, his cries getting louder now that he was being ignored.

"I used it to help solve the murder of a woman. So unless you don't want me to catch murderers because you're not willing to sacrifice a piece of equipment-"

"Enough with that excuse! You've used that excuse so many times!"

 

 

end~


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